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Good news: I survived Mardi Gras in New Orleans, on the main parade route and then, later, in the Quarter. I am not entirely certain that NOLA or the Quarter survived me, but that may be a story for another time.

What’s up for grabs, though, is whether or not the Quarter survives Bobbie Faye, and her whacked out wedding in the novella that’s included in our new Guns and Roses Anthology. (You haven’t heard about it? Your kidnappers FINALLY let you go, YAY! Otherwise, nice rock, good soundproofing, because we’ve probably annoyed the world with our yahoooing over here. :D)

One of the very (very very very) strange things about writing a series with Bobbie Faye at the helm (and believe me, folks, she is real and she drives the bus), is that I never really know what’s going to happen. I always sort of think I know. I tend to have a plan when I start the story, but then Bobbie Faye wakes up and takes over and it’s a wild ride.

Case in point, this… well, it was going to be a short story. (ha) It was going to be a very simple, straightforward, quickie about a prelude moment before Bobbie Faye had (or didn’t have, as the case may be) her wedding. And then… Bobbie Faye showed up, took over the story, and it became a novella (about 4 times as long as my original planned length). There were heists and gunmen and Others Who Shall Remain Nameless all aiming to destroy Bobbie Faye. It was Not Pretty.

But it was a helluva ride.

God, I love that woman. I am so grateful for the day when she showed up, fully formed, (and she named herself, I’ll have you know), and sort of burst into and stopped another project I was working on cold, because, as she said, she “had words,” and I had better “get busy.” She is this living, breathing entity, to me, and, I have been blessed over the years to learn, to many others. I cannot tell you how grateful I’ve been for that. So much so, that I almost couldn’t write this story; it’s going to be the last Bobbie Faye for a long, long, long, time. There may be spin offs (see that link for a poll, if you have an opinion). But–at least for a while–Bobbie Faye is going to be stepping into the background of those other stories.

Which meant, really, that this story was our last time together, and she just went off in a direction I hadn’t predicted. I thought I knew how the story ended; I was a bit shocked, really, when there was a certain reveal, because I can honestly tell you, I had not planned it. Not at all, not even a little bit. And when it was revealed, I sat back in my chair and thought, holy shit.

So, without further ado, here’s the excerpt from BOBBIE FAYE’S WHACKED OUT, NO GOOD, REALLY SUCKY, HOT MESS OF A WEDDING:

“Exactly why is Bobbie Faye trying to kill the scarecrow again?” Nina asked Trevor, Bobbie Faye’s smoking-hot fiancé, after she’d arrived in her best friend’s back yard. He was leaning oh-so-casually against a tree with one shoulder, facing the “back forty” as Bobbie Faye called the vast expanse of wilderness surrounding their home deep in bayou territory of South Louisiana. To a casual observer, (if they could get past the abs, the biceps, the ass… boy, her girlfriend sure knew how to pick ‘em)… they might think Trevor was completely relaxed, enjoying the scenery of his fiancée decimating a scarecrow. Well, you never really knew, with some couples, what they did for kicks. But Nina was anything but a casual observer and she could feel the tension radiating out from Trevor, his arms crossed tightly, his stubbled jaw, clenched.

As Bobbie Faye unloaded her magazine, he intoned, “It’s been a particularly stressful day.” His monotone delivery barely disguised his own tightly banked fury. He was FBI—well, now, he was former FBI after their last disaster where a bad-to-the-bone terrorist had gone after Trevor by trying to destroy Bobbie Faye… and half of Baton Rouge with her, when he planted bombs at the LSU/Alabama game. In Trevor’s world, people died when they threatened Bobbie Faye, hence the former in front of that “FBI.”

Nina started to speak to her friend and Trevor held her back, shaking his head. It wasn’t that unusual to see Bobbie Faye with a gun; hell, she not only ran the gun counter at Ce Ce’s Cajun Outfitter and Feng Shui Emporium, but she was a better shot than anyone Nina had ever come across—and being neck deep in spec ops, Nina had come across plenty. It was, however, a bit strange to watch Bobbie Faye blast the stuffing out of the poor defenseless scarecrow tied to the fence, not to mention how unnerving it was to see several carcasses of previous scarecrows littering the ground. As crazy as Bobbie Faye was—and she tapped out at the top of the if-she’s-breathing-then-there’s-a-disaster-a-brewing meter—Nina had never seen her quite so… focused in her Crazy. For someone who was purely a civilian, who simply had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Bobbie Faye was generally able to deal with the stress.

Now? She looked like she was going to go batshit at any moment.

“She’s been on the phone all day,” Trevor explained. “It didn’t go well.”

“If this is ‘not well,’ then remind me to move to Russia when she gets to ‘bad.’”

“It was either encourage her to kill the scarecrows or let her go talk to the Bishop at the Diocese.”

Bobbie Faye dropped the magazine out of her FN, slammed a new one in and planted, rapid-fire, nine more rounds into the scarecrow’s left eye.

Nina suppressed a shudder. “Good call.”

Nina had heard a few of the early horror stories from Bobbie Faye as she tried to find a venue for their wedding. She personally knew local bookies who were taking bets as to how many people slammed the door in her friend’s face before Bobbie Faye had a full-on melt down. There was a betting board set up in Vegas and Homeland Security was discretely making calls. She knew of one three-star general who’d taken early retirement rather than be transferred to “Bobbie Faye” territory.

Bobbie Faye was Catholic, somewhat lapsed, but it mattered to her, so it hadn’t completely shocked Nina that Bobbie Faye would want a Catholic wedding. It had surprised her, when she had returned home from her latest assignment, to find out there was no venue booked and no wedding details planned—not because Bobbie Faye was anything short of a nightmare in the planning department, but because Trevor, at least, was an organizational wizard. If he hadn’t gotten her to settle on a place, things were bad.

Bobbie Faye dropped that empty magazine, slammed home another one with a vengeance, and shot off a kneecap.

“Boss?” a construction worker said, approaching them from the house—the one being renovated after the aforementioned badass terrorist had blown it up, “we gotta take off for the day.”

“It’s only noon,” Trevor said, still watching Bobbie Faye.

“I know… but,” he stammered as Bobbie Faye unloaded multiple rounds into the scarecrow. “Sir, she’s scaring the men. T-boy done dropped the big nail gun on his foot twice, an’ Mikey keeps flinching, an’ if you want your wiring to work, that ain’t so good, an’ Raoul keeps stopping to pray. An’ cry. We’re just wastin’ your money.” He’d said it all in a rush and Nina realized he’d had the sense enough to put her between Bobbie Faye and himself. “We can come back tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Trevor said, surprising Nina. It must really be bad if he wasn’t telling the man to pull up his big boy panties and get back to work. The foreman crossed himself and then sprinted back to the jobsite as Bobbie Faye loaded another magazine.

“How many churches turned her down?”

“All of them.” Trevor’s flat passionless tone didn’t fool Nina. He was just as ticked off as Bobbie Faye.

“Well, you don’t have to get married in this parish. Y’all could try—” She caught the banked disgust behind Trevor’s sunglasses. “Oh, you mean all of them. In the whole state?”

“Well that explains the weird protection detail request that came through a while back from a Cardinal who was crying and begging for help—” Trevor arched an eyebrow and she nodded. “Kept babbling about having made a grave mistake, but wouldn’t admit what it was.” Bobbie Faye reloaded. “But why? It’s not like she’s actually blown up a Catholic Church. Yet. And I’m pretty sure she hasn’t maimed and tortured any priests that I’m unaware of.”

Trevor cut his steely blue gaze her direction. “Are there some you are aware of?”

Trevor barely twitched a grin at that, and he shook his head. “The ex-communication happened not long after I had mentioned to my family that we wanted a Catholic wedding. I had Izzy”—his computer-hacking whiz of a baby sister—“do a deep check of Cormi-co’s financials.”

Cold fury radiated off Trevor just at the mention of his family’s business and suddenly Nina knew. “Tell me she didn’t.” Trevor’s mom. A name banished in Trevor’s home and anywhere near Bobbie Faye. Banned by Trevor when his mom gleefully tried to trade her to the terrorist to buy back Trevor’s life.

“Moved thirty million into a charitable contribution fund, just after placing a phone call to the Pope. Said fund dispersing to the Vatican ten minutes later.”

“Wow.” Nina’s mind reeled. “Your mom really really does not want you two to get married. Does Bobbie Faye know?” Bam bam bam bam bam bam bam — and the scarecrow’s head fell off, the neck cut clean through with Bobbie Faye’s neat line of shooting. “Never mind. I’ll take that as a yes. You could always elope. She said from the beginning she didn’t want a big wedding.”

“She wants a wedding,” Trevor said after Bobbie Faye shot off the right arm of the scarecrow. “She’s not going to say it, or ask for it, but when she doesn’t think I’m looking, she pores over bridal magazines.”

“She’s getting a wedding,” Trevor said, low, quiet. Scary quiet. “She’s getting a wedding, with all the frills, in a Catholic church, in a beautiful dress, if I have to kill every goddamned person in this state to do it.”

Nina watched as the other arm of the scarecrow fell off. “How many of those you been through?”

“Seven.”

“If she makes me wear pink, I’m kicking your ass.”

… and the trouble begins…

Now, for YOU: I mention my spin off poll above… but spin offs imply favorite series and characters that you already love. So tell me, are there any spin offs that you’ve enjoyed? If so, which ones? Would you like seeing the original characters show up in the background? What’s your favorite spin off character that you met as a minor or mini-major character in another character’s book? [And if you go vote in that poll, I’d love you forever. :D]

Everyone who comments today will be entered to possibly win one of 10 $15 (email) gift certificates to an online bookstore of your choice (as long as I can buy it from online, and email it to you, it’s doable. This includes outside the US, as long as I can do it without wanting to throw my computer in the river.) Contest ends Saturday, noon, CST and winners will be announced either late Saturday or Sunday (check back on the website for the winners–you have one week to email me to claim your prize).

Good news: I survived Mardi Gras in New Orleans, on the main parade route and then, later, in the Quarter. I am not entirely certain that NOLA or the Quarter survived me, but that may be a story for another time.

What’s up for grabs, though, is whether or not the Quarter survives Bobbie Faye, and her whacked out wedding in the novella that’s included in our new Guns and Roses Anthology. (You haven’t heard about it? Your kidnappers FINALLY let you go, YAY! Otherwise, nice rock, good soundproofing, because we’ve probably annoyed the world with our yahoooing over here. :D)

One of the very (very very very) strange things about writing a series with Bobbie Faye at the helm (and believe me, folks, she is real and she drives the bus), is that I never really know what’s going to happen. I always sort of think I know. I tend to have a plan when I start the story, but then Bobbie Faye wakes up and takes over and it’s a wild ride.

Case in point, this… well, it was going to be a short story. (ha) It was going to be a very simple, straightforward, quickie about a prelude moment before Bobbie Faye had (or didn’t have, as the case may be) her wedding. And then… Bobbie Faye showed up, took over the story, and it became a novella (about 4 times as long as my original planned length). There were heists and gunmen and Others Who Shall Remain Nameless all aiming to destroy Bobbie Faye. It was Not Pretty.

But it was a helluva ride.

God, I love that woman. I am so grateful for the day when she showed up, fully formed, (and she named herself, I’ll have you know), and sort of burst into and stopped another project I was working on cold, because, as she said, she “had words,” and I had better “get busy.” She is this living, breathing entity, to me, and, I have been blessed over the years to learn, to many others. I cannot tell you how grateful I’ve been for that. So much so, that I almost couldn’t write this story; it’s going to be the last Bobbie Faye for a long, long, long, time. There may be spin offs (see that link for a poll, if you have an opinion). But–at least for a while–Bobbie Faye is going to be stepping into the background of those other stories.

Which meant, really, that this story was our last time together, and she just went off in a direction I hadn’t predicted. I thought I knew how the story ended; I was a bit shocked, really, when there was a certain reveal, because I can honestly tell you, I had not planned it. Not at all, not even a little bit. And when it was revealed, I sat back in my chair and thought, holy shit.

So, without further ado, here’s the excerpt from BOBBIE FAYE’S WHACKED OUT, NO GOOD, REALLY SUCKY, HOT MESS OF A WEDDING:

“Exactly why is Bobbie Faye trying to kill the scarecrow again?” Nina asked Trevor, Bobbie Faye’s smoking-hot fiancé, after she’d arrived in her best friend’s back yard. He was leaning oh-so-casually against a tree with one shoulder, facing the “back forty” as Bobbie Faye called the vast expanse of wilderness surrounding their home deep in bayou territory of South Louisiana. To a casual observer, (if they could get past the abs, the biceps, the ass… boy, her girlfriend sure knew how to pick ‘em)… they might think Trevor was completely relaxed, enjoying the scenery of his fiancée decimating a scarecrow. Well, you never really knew, with some couples, what they did for kicks. But Nina was anything but a casual observer and she could feel the tension radiating out from Trevor, his arms crossed tightly, his stubbled jaw, clenched.

As Bobbie Faye unloaded her magazine, he intoned, “It’s been a particularly stressful day.” His monotone delivery barely disguised his own tightly banked fury. He was FBI—well, now, he was former FBI after their last disaster where a bad-to-the-bone terrorist had gone after Trevor by trying to destroy Bobbie Faye… and half of Baton Rouge with her, when he planted bombs at the LSU/Alabama game. In Trevor’s world, people died when they threatened Bobbie Faye, hence the former in front of that “FBI.”

Nina started to speak to her friend and Trevor held her back, shaking his head. It wasn’t that unusual to see Bobbie Faye with a gun; hell, she not only ran the gun counter at Ce Ce’s Cajun Outfitter and Feng Shui Emporium, but she was a better shot than anyone Nina had ever come across—and being neck deep in spec ops, Nina had come across plenty. It was, however, a bit strange to watch Bobbie Faye blast the stuffing out of the poor defenseless scarecrow tied to the fence, not to mention how unnerving it was to see several carcasses of previous scarecrows littering the ground. As crazy as Bobbie Faye was—and she tapped out at the top of the if-she’s-breathing-then-there’s-a-disaster-a-brewing meter—Nina had never seen her quite so… focused in her Crazy. For someone who was purely a civilian, who simply had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Bobbie Faye was generally able to deal with the stress.

Now? She looked like she was going to go batshit at any moment.

“She’s been on the phone all day,” Trevor explained. “It didn’t go well.”

“If this is ‘not well,’ then remind me to move to Russia when she gets to ‘bad.’”

“It was either encourage her to kill the scarecrows or let her go talk to the Bishop at the Diocese.”

Bobbie Faye dropped the magazine out of her FN, slammed a new one in and planted, rapid-fire, nine more rounds into the scarecrow’s left eye.

Nina suppressed a shudder. “Good call.”

Nina had heard a few of the early horror stories from Bobbie Faye as she tried to find a venue for their wedding. She personally knew local bookies who were taking bets as to how many people slammed the door in her friend’s face before Bobbie Faye had a full-on melt down. There was a betting board set up in Vegas and Homeland Security was discretely making calls. She knew of one three-star general who’d taken early retirement rather than be transferred to “Bobbie Faye” territory.

Bobbie Faye was Catholic, somewhat lapsed, but it mattered to her, so it hadn’t completely shocked Nina that Bobbie Faye would want a Catholic wedding. It had surprised her, when she had returned home from her latest assignment, to find out there was no venue booked and no wedding details planned—not because Bobbie Faye was anything short of a nightmare in the planning department, but because Trevor, at least, was an organizational wizard. If he hadn’t gotten her to settle on a place, things were bad.

Bobbie Faye dropped that empty magazine, slammed home another one with a vengeance, and shot off a kneecap.

“Boss?” a construction worker said, approaching them from the house—the one being renovated after the aforementioned badass terrorist had blown it up, “we gotta take off for the day.”

“It’s only noon,” Trevor said, still watching Bobbie Faye.

“I know… but,” he stammered as Bobbie Faye unloaded multiple rounds into the scarecrow. “Sir, she’s scaring the men. T-boy done dropped the big nail gun on his foot twice, an’ Mikey keeps flinching, an’ if you want your wiring to work, that ain’t so good, an’ Raoul keeps stopping to pray. An’ cry. We’re just wastin’ your money.” He’d said it all in a rush and Nina realized he’d had the sense enough to put her between Bobbie Faye and himself. “We can come back tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Trevor said, surprising Nina. It must really be bad if he wasn’t telling the man to pull up his big boy panties and get back to work. The foreman crossed himself and then sprinted back to the jobsite as Bobbie Faye loaded another magazine.

“How many churches turned her down?”

“All of them.” Trevor’s flat passionless tone didn’t fool Nina. He was just as ticked off as Bobbie Faye.

“Well, you don’t have to get married in this parish. Y’all could try—” She caught the banked disgust behind Trevor’s sunglasses. “Oh, you mean all of them. In the whole state?”

“Well that explains the weird protection detail request that came through a while back from a Cardinal who was crying and begging for help—” Trevor arched an eyebrow and she nodded. “Kept babbling about having made a grave mistake, but wouldn’t admit what it was.” Bobbie Faye reloaded. “But why? It’s not like she’s actually blown up a Catholic Church. Yet. And I’m pretty sure she hasn’t maimed and tortured any priests that I’m unaware of.”

Trevor cut his steely blue gaze her direction. “Are there some you are aware of?”

Trevor barely twitched a grin at that, and he shook his head. “The ex-communication happened not long after I had mentioned to my family that we wanted a Catholic wedding. I had Izzy”—his computer-hacking whiz of a baby sister—“do a deep check of Cormi-co’s financials.”

Cold fury radiated off Trevor just at the mention of his family’s business and suddenly Nina knew. “Tell me she didn’t.” Trevor’s mom. A name banished in Trevor’s home and anywhere near Bobbie Faye. Banned by Trevor when his mom gleefully tried to trade her to the terrorist to buy back Trevor’s life.

“Moved thirty million into a charitable contribution fund, just after placing a phone call to the Pope. Said fund dispersing to the Vatican ten minutes later.”

“Wow.” Nina’s mind reeled. “Your mom really really does not want you two to get married. Does Bobbie Faye know?” Bam bam bam bam bam bam bam — and the scarecrow’s head fell off, the neck cut clean through with Bobbie Faye’s neat line of shooting. “Never mind. I’ll take that as a yes. You could always elope. She said from the beginning she didn’t want a big wedding.”

“She wants a wedding,” Trevor said after Bobbie Faye shot off the right arm of the scarecrow. “She’s not going to say it, or ask for it, but when she doesn’t think I’m looking, she pores over bridal magazines.”

“She’s getting a wedding,” Trevor said, low, quiet. Scary quiet. “She’s getting a wedding, with all the frills, in a Catholic church, in a beautiful dress, if I have to kill every goddamned person in this state to do it.”

Nina watched as the other arm of the scarecrow fell off. “How many of those you been through?”

“Seven.”

“If she makes me wear pink, I’m kicking your ass.”

… and the trouble begins…

Now, for YOU: I mention my spin off poll above… but spin offs imply favorite series and characters that you already love. So tell me, are there any spin offs that you’ve enjoyed? If so, which ones? Would you like seeing the original characters show up in the background? What’s your favorite spin off character that you met as a minor or mini-major character in another character’s book? [And if you go vote in that poll, I’d love you forever. :D]

Everyone who comments today will be entered to possibly win one of 10 $15 (email) gift certificates to an online bookstore of your choice (as long as I can buy it from online, and email it to you, it’s doable. This includes outside the US, as long as I can do it without wanting to throw my computer in the river.) Contest ends Saturday, noon, CST and winners will be announced either late Saturday or Sunday (check back on the website for the winners–you have one week to email me to claim your prize).

I always get really great fan mail, which, frankly, is like receiving Grace from God, especially on terrible writing days when I am absolutely sure I cannot write a coherent grocery list, but every once-in-a-while, I’ll get one that’ll sort of stump me, and I’ll actually have to go back to my own book(s) and look up the answer. These letters usually involve questions about some detail that I wrote a while back, and they want to know more about that choice or the repercussions down the line. I love these questions, though I get annoyed with myself that I’m so stumped, I have to go look it up in the book to refresh my memory. Generally, I am steeped so deeply in the characters, even the minor ones, I know all of the details of their lives and what they would do next or what they did years ago. After all, they’re my characters–I made them, in the same way I made my children: with lots of pain, sweat, tears, hair-pulling (my own), cursing (not always my own), labor labor labor, laughter, tears, more tears, still more tears, lots more laughter, begging (lots and lots of begging to please, for the LOVE OF GOD, just BEHAVE!).

The other day, though, I received a fan letter that asked me a simple question, and I was momentarily confused, but the back-and-forth the fan and I had not only made me smile, it made me realize I had to re-think whose characters these characters really are.

She asked:

“Why on God’s green earth did you have to make Cam a brunet? He was blond in the first two books, was he not? Ok. So I have OCD and have trouble letting go of little inconsistencies. But I love Bobbie Faye so much that I was willing to file most of the discrepancies away in my brain under the heading “Artistic License.” I even sort of managed to get past the fact that Cam grew an inch between the first and second books. (Apparently, I’m still working on letting it go.) But giving him dark hair? The way you had everything originally was just so perfect! A hot blond and a hot brunet–reader root for your own personal preference. But now both Cam AND Trevor have dark hair, and if you count Bobbie Faye, that’s all three of ’em.

Of course, I AM only halfway through the book. If you end up explaining that Cam had to dye his hair as the result of losing some kind of bar bet, this email is TOTALLY irrelevant. So I guess I’d better get back to it. Just so you know, though, Cam is going back to being a blond in MY mind. (No offense!)”

Here’s my letter back:

This cracked me up. 🙂 I had to go back and look in the first book, and now that I have, I’m not sure where in the heck I described Cam fully. I checked out the beginning when we (as readers) first meet him, and on page 66, when Bobbie Faye’s coming up out of the water, she looks over and sees Cam standing on the other bank:

She saw Cam; his lanky frame, shock of dark, straight hair shorn too short for her tastes, and easy rolling gait of an athlete were unmistakable.

I think somewhere else, I describe him as 6’4″ — I’ve always pictured him tall because he was a former LSU quarterback, and generally, those guys are tall.

He’s dark-headed because both he and Bobbie Faye are Cajun, and while there’s a big mix now in Cajun heritage, there are whole areas where it’s much more common to be all dark headed. Trevor’s the one who (in my mind’s eye) kept changing. In book one, I always pictured him as brown wavy hair, longish, and then in book 2, when he comes back as the biker, I’d thought (or meant) he’d have blonder hair, something that he’d had changed for the undercover op he was on. Book 3 is darker again.

Which… is really weird, because it never even occurred to me that I had given them all dark hair!

But you know, if you wanna see Cam as a blonde, go right ahead. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve read something and I’ve *known* the color of a character’s hair and then felt thrown out of the text when the author mentioned a different color. 🙂 I love that–I love that he’s *your* Cam.

Thanks for the note–and I’m thrilled that your’e enjoying the books!

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve read a book and gotten it into my head that a character looked a certain way, and then later in the book, saw another description of them and thought, no, no, that’s not right, they’re ____! And furthermore, it just annoyed the hell out of me if I kept stumbling across descriptions that were completely incongruous with the way I saw the character, because the author, however well-meaning, was slicing into my suspension of disbelief, and ruining the moment. [I cannot tell you how much flak I got from fans (grin) because the video up on my site features a blonde Bobbie Faye. I adore the actress who volunteered for the multiple-day shoot–for free–and the original plan was that we were going to go have her hair dyed a rich brunette. It was supposed to be a temporary wash-out dye, and she was game for it, but a couple of days before we filmed, she landed a paying gig, and her hair had to be blonde for it. She was, rightfully, afraid the dye might not wash out well or in time, and asked me if she could wear a wig. I didn’t have time to order a really great wig that wouldn’t look like a wig, and couldn’t find something local that didn’t look like she was trailer trash straight from hillbilly hell, so we canned the wig and shot it blonde, and I swear to you, I actually had the thought, “It won’t matter, no one will notice.” HA. Little did I realize how proprietary people feel about the character they’re reading about.)

The problem is, of course, that as an author, we need to describe the character enough and give them unique enough traits so that they leap off the page and become iconic for the reader. We want them so memorable that readers talk about them as if they’re real. I am, perhaps, the *most* delighted when someone tells me, “Nuh uh, Bobbie Faye wouldn’t do that!” My editor, once, gave me the biggest compliment one time. We were having a rather fun discussion (we never argued) over what Bobbie Faye would or wouldn’t do in a particular moment, and she was pretty emphatic about a certain point and I was pretty emphatically disagreeing with her, and, exasperated, she said, “Well, if you’d just ask her, she’d tell you!” And there was a moment of silence there as we both realized what she said and we cracked up. (Turns out? She was right. It was one of the very very few times we ever really butted heads over character, and I had a certain preconceived notion about a situation and was contorting Bobbie Faye to fit that notion, without even realizing it. And I had it completely justified in my head as to why I was right, but she had an entire arsenal of previous comments and actions from Bobbie Faye to counter-argue, and, after looking at that, I realized, she was right. And that specific point is something I’ve gotten tons of fan mail about, people who were glad to see Bobbie Faye didn’t do X (my original plan) and instead, did Y (my editor’s plan), because the latter choice was stereotypical and would have ruined the book for them if she’d gone down that path. And this, my friends, is why we love love love love LOVE our editors, and pray we continue to get people who care so much about the books they edit.)

Back to describing… it’s critical, to me, to find ways to describe a character which goes beyond the physical and gets to who they are, and the kind of choices they’ll make, and then let the reader’s mind’s eye take over. Trevor, for me, was always stockier than Cam, bad-to-the-bone. A sort of lean, hot, younger Russell Crowe, or Gerard Butler (a la 300, but without the beard). I don’t necessarily go into a lot of physical specifics each time… here’s what Bobbie Faye sees when he shows up in book 2, GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE GUNS:

In his scuffed biker boots, he stood a little taller than six foot, a baseball cap pulled low over longish brown hair in a ponytail; a mustache and goatee registered, but mostly, she’d first focused at her eye level where incredibly tanned, muscled arms were covered with tats and scars. She registered the hottie factor, the flat abs and nice ass, in the moment it took her to try to sidestep and spin away from where they’d rammed into each other. Something intangible, some scent, jumpstarted her Hormones, which backpedaled with a whoa and in an overriding show of power, halted her entire body with a flood of heat, and that was kinda weird because the last time that happened was when Trevor… holy shit.

Trevor was here. Undercover.

She stumbled as she caught the expression in his eyes that warned her not to show she knew who he was, and his hands were instantly on her waist, keeping her from crashing into the concrete parking lot. Those hands felt goooooooooood. Thank you, Jesus, for loving me a little.

Appearances end up mattering even more in book 3, WHEN A MAN LOVES A WEAPON, especially when Trevor changes his so drastically when he’s undercover again, and she sees him for the first time in his new guise, wearing a very expensive suit, beautifully tailored for him, and a watch that was worth more than her home and car put together. It starts a chain reaction between them that makes them confront who and what they are to each other, and what that means for their chances together, so descriptive details matter.

All that said, and even with as much thought and intention as I put into every character, every description (and whether or not to reiterate the physical or the internal, etc.), I am actually happiest when a reader feels like they know that character, and can see them, and would know them on the street. I’m really seriously ecstatic when they write to me and talk to me as if these guys are real. (You wouldn’t believe the Trevor vs. Cam email I got for a long while there after book 2. Seriously, I thought, by the end of that book, that it was pretty clear what Bobbie Faye’s choice was, and why–and yet, there were many many emails debating the issue, voting for their favorite, and the vote seemed pretty 50/50, which, frankly, surprised me.)

But then, I feel like these people are real, not just words on a page, and I do miss them. It’s like having family move away and you talk to them every once-in-a-while, and maybe visit in person twice a year, but you don’t get to see their zany facial expressions every day.

What characters have you read where you feel like you know them well enough to recognize them on the street? Or is there a character that was described one way by the author, but you see them differently?

A TWO-FER contest — all commenters are eligible for a $25 gift certificate to an online bookstore of their choice AND they get to pick a friend to receive another $25 gift certificate to an online bookstore of their choice. So bring your friends around and double your chances. 🙂

My last couple of blog entries, I’ve been breaking down how to write humor. The problem with looking at the nuts and bolts of the craft of humor is that the craft itself isn’t funny. It’s like a magician showing you how the trick is done: cool to see, but ultimately, sort of a let down because it’s no longer magic.

That said, if you want to catch up to where we are today, check how Part One and Part Two and then come back. We’ll wait. Go on, scamper.

I left off in the middle of listing some mechanisms for humor. This is not going to be an exhaustive list (cannot stress that enough). Think of them as handy brainstorming guidelines, but be aware that you can combine them, as well. Okay, lessee…. up next is:

Exaggeration / HYPERBOLE —

This is one of my favorites (go figure) because it can be used subtly (yep, I know, seems like a contradiction in terms: subtle exaggeration), and it can be used balls out.

Subtle: She loved the pie so much, she’d marry it if it were legal. Which it probably was, in the deep south. So long as it was a Christian pie.

Big: She knew she wanted that man. She had always known. The Universe had known. Eleventy billion years ago, some DNA somewhere paired up with some other DNA and they hatched a plan so that right now, at this moment, she would be here in this spot where she’d see him walking across the vast, empty parking lot, and she’d be able, with just the right touch, to stomp on the gas pedal of her little Prius and get up enough speed to mow his lying, cheating, bastard ass down without a single witness in sight. The Universe was smart like that.

“I’m stunned they don’t have your picture with a slash through it out here somewhere,” Riles muttered. “That’s a class-action lawsuit begging to happen.”

Misguided proclamations —

A moment later, in the bar inside the casino, Bobbie Faye is assuring the bar’s owner, Suds, that she is not going to cause any harm to his establishment.

“I promise, Suds. That last time was a total accident.”

“Honey, you took a chainsaw to three booths.”

“They beat up Lori Ann after school.”

“I know, Sugar, I’d have held the idiots down for you, but the booths were innocent.”

…and a couple of exchanges later…

“I’ll make this quick and clean and then we’ll be outta here. Give me some time before you call the cops.”

And by this point, anyone who’s read anything about Bobbie Faye knows that place is toast. At that point, it’s just a matter of how it will unfold.

Other misguided proclamations occur when we see, for example, that there is a problem, but the person the scene is focused on tries to imply that there isn’t one by claiming, “Oh, move along, nothing to see, all is well.” The comedy comes in the anticipation of how bad that is going to rubberband back on them.

Shock Value —

Socially inappropriate behavior will either horrify us or make us laugh, and sometimes, both at the same time. Someone naked where they aren’t supposed to be, someone saying the first thing that comes to their mind when they shouldn’t, someone acting completely age inappropriate or status inappropriate. For example, if you saw Queen Elizabeth on a YouTube video humping the leg of her husband, you’d be horrified. If she were drunk and people were trying to stop her, but afraid to touch her, but trying desperately to salvage her dignity, you’d be laughing. If she were humping the leg of a gorilla, you’d probably be in tears.

The problem with shock value is that it can almost immediately backfire on you if the reader / viewer thinks too much about what they’re seeing. It elicits a purely visceral, fast reaction, but we are also almost always embarrassed by the fact that we found something like that funny. To pull this one off requires a lot of perfect timing if it’s going to be the central moment around which the comedy is built. Alternately, shock value can be the premise of an entire piece which does gag after gag after gag. (Monty Python stuff, lots of slapstick comedies, farce and satire utilize shock value frequently.)

Comeuppance —

This is when the bad guy gets his due, done in a funny way. The easiest example is when Daffy Duck has grabbed away the gun from Elmer Fudd (I believe) because he’s being selfish and screams, “Mine! Mine! Mine!” and it goes off, blowing his beak around to the back of his head. Or when Wile E Coyote is determined to trick the poor Road Runner and ends up off the edge of the cliff himself, scrambling for purchase of thin air, knowing he is doomed.

(Obviously, this is used with non-cartoon moments. But you cannot help but love Daffy and Wile E.)

Humiliation / Self-Deprecation —

Entire careers can be made off these two. For humiliation, think Jim Carrey in LIAR LIAR. In that movie, Fletcher, an attorney, cannot lie for 24 hours due to the birthday wish of his young son, and the truth-telling is about to kill him because he has no control over it. Here’s one of many exchanges:

Charles: Ehm, look. Sorry, sorry. I just, ehm, well, this is a very stupid question and… , particularly in view of our recent shopping excursion, but I just wondered, by any chance, ehm, eh, I mean obviously not because I guess I’ve only slept with 9 people, but-but I-I just wondered… ehh. I really feel, ehh, in short, to recap it slightly in a clearer version, eh, the words of David Cassidy in fact, eh, while he was still with the Partridge family, eh, “I think I love you,” and eh, I-I just wondered by any chance you wouldn’t like to… Eh… Eh… No, no, no of course not… I’m an idiot, he’s not… Excellent, excellent, fantastic, eh, I was gonna say lovely to see you, sorry to disturb… Better get on…Carrie: That was very romantic.Charles: Well, I thought it over a lot, you know, I wanted to get it just right.

and here, this one is his friend, Tom, speaking:

Tom: Oh, I don’t know, Charlie. Unlike you, I never expected “the thunderbolt.” I always just hoped that, that I’d meet some nice friendly girl, like the look of her, hope the look of me didn’t make her physically sick, then pop the question and, um, settle down and be happy. It worked for my parents. Well, apart from the divorce and all that.

and here:

Tom: The great advantage of having a reputation for being stupid: People are less suspicious of you.

(By the way, if you want to learn to write humor, read all of Crusie’s books. WELCOME TO TEMPTATION is probably my favorite.)

Okay, that’s enough for today. Next time, I have a couple more mechanisms I want to cover, and then talk about how to use these. I’ll try to do some before/after to show you how I start with an idea and work it so that it’s funny. I’m hoping to show how to use this in dark moments as well as in comedy.

For today, how about naming any funny book you’ve read, OR funny movie. Let’s compile a list of favorites. If there’s something in there that made you laugh, I’d love to see it. Also, if you have a request on how to make something funny that you have worked on and feel just isn’t working yet, feel free to put it up or send it to me via email with the caveat that I can use it here, and I’ll try to workshop those with you.

The other night, my husband and I went out to eat at one of our local favorites, a family oriented sports bar. (We don’t really care that it’s a sports bar–it’s close by and happens to have pretty good food and we can almost always grab a booth, even on a really busy night, because they know us there.) As soon as we sat down, though, the waiter warned us that it was “Trivia Night.” We’d somehow managed to miss this phenomenon last spring semester, so we weren’t quite sure what to expect. There was the typical out-going party-hearty Young Guy (backwards baseball cap) who joked with the crowd as they were giving everyone a chance to go sign up for the game, and there was a constant mention of various drinks they had at the bar that was on special for the night. But they handed me comedy gold with the next thing…

It seems they decided to give out a free shot of JÃ¤germeister to a “much deserving” young woman whose birthday was that day. She was finally 21 and after three years of getting kicked out of the bar for drinking underage…

We just have to stop right there for a moment. Three years. Three? She is a college student, who kept going to the same bar, a place which knew her by name, and tried to drink illegally, even after they’d thrown her out before? Three years? At this point, I am expecting someone to walk up with the IQ of a garden hose. I am worried that she drives. Or votes.

…and now that she’s 21, they are going to give her a free shot. Because seriously, that’s what we want to do here, we want to take the person with the least common sense in the room and compromise the two brain cells that are still operating.

So they call her name and as soon as she walks past us, I realize why the cute young stud who was in charge wanted to give her the free shot. I happened to look at her face, which was sweet and demure and she looked as if she could be teaching Sunday School. I’m pretty sure not a single man in the place managed to glance all the way up to her face: this is a girl whose boobs were so large, they had their own gravitational pull, and there is going to come a day when she realizes that gravity is not her friend. I probably should have stopped her and thanked her for choosing “clothing” as one of her options for the evening, though we might need to discuss whether or not something see-through that is tied around things the size of Jupiter qualifies as actual clothing. I was quite impressed, however, with the symmetry of the tattoo around her left nipple. Good steady hand for that. My compliments to the artist.

Seeing her there reminded me of two different motorcyclists, probably a couple of months apart. The first was a super bad ass Harley dude. We were stopped at a red light and he pulled up even with me. Typical tats, worn biker boots, leather jacket, beard that implied that he hadn’t shaved or bathed in months. Truly, a gritty looking guy. And as the cars in front of him inched up a little, he inched up, too, and I saw something pink and red out of the corner of my eye, so I looked back at him…

And he was wearing a backpack made of red fur. RED FUR. With pink tassels. RED FUR, PINK TASSELS, people.

Last week, I was alone about three cars behind a motorcyclist who was stopped at a red light. He was in the left lane, I was in the right or I’d have never seen him. He was a relatively small guy on a big Harley, dressed in typical biker gear, though I have to confess, I didn’t look that closely. What I saw, instead, was that he had glued big plastic spikes to his helmet. Imagine the Statue of Liberty kind of pointy spikes with a wider base, pyramid-style, but arranged like a mohawk. These things were big ass spikes, too–at least ten inches, all the way from the front of the helmet to the back. Ten. Inch. Spikes. The spikes were bigger than he was. I desperately wanted to pull alongside and tell him that it’s called “overcompensation.”

Comedy is everywhere.

A couple of weeks ago, I talked (here) about how to utilize humor in your writing, and to set the stage for the actual methods, we talked a little bit about the goal and purpose of humor: to illuminate character, show the irony of the situation and to set up for something else more humorous down the line.

There are a ton of reasons why you may want to utilize humor, even if what you’re writing is a very dark story. (Unrelenting darkness can overwhelm the reader and cause them to put down the book for a respite; humor, however, can provide that respite and keep the reader reading.)

Comedy writing–the actual words on the page–depend on rhythm, pacing, style of language, imagery. Like music–staccato rhythm = fast song. Comedy has a rhythm. The set up to the joke has to pace just right, and you have to know when to stop.

But first, you need to know where to start.

There are a lot of different methods that can be used for comedy. Very few people are truly without humor–even your darkest protagonists. Even your darkest villains. You have to simply find the right kind of method to illustrate their particular kind of humor. (And when you do, it’ll add a layer to that character, a way for you to show us an element about him or her that will illustrate what matters to them, as well as their world view.)

Bobbie Faye Sumrall was full up on crazy, thank you very much, and had a side order of cranky to spare.

That sets the tone for the book — we know this is going to be a whacked out crazy book — and it uses exaggeration as a technique. If there’s any doubt, this paragraph follows soon after:

Bobbie Faye and the Universe were like warring spouses locked in an eternal battle, trying to blow each other up rather than admit that the other was savvier. (The Universe, by the way? A big fat cheater.)

I purposefully chose hyperbole as a voice for Bobbie Faye because I knew when I first started writing the series that there were going to be elements of the fantastical — exaggerated action scenes, huge set pieces, crazy, physics-defying moments. Those things would have floundered if Bobbie Faye herself used normal language and never resorted to exaggeration.

Here’s a short list of mechanisms I use for humor. (This isn’t an exhaustive list.)

Incongruity — if what the character gets is different than what they expect. In MEN IN BLACK, when Jay (Will Smith) is going to get the super-terrific laser from Kay (Tommy Lee Jones), he’s expecting to be handed the biggest baddest alien killing gun in the arsenal. And Kay hands him something the size of a tiny water pistol.

Rule of Three — three examples are generally a great rhythm, but you have to make sure they appear in order of least-to-best, smallest-to-largest. In other words, if you have three examples, you don’t want the best example first because the other two will then suffer by comparison and the schtick won’t be as funny. Rule of three can be seen as something spread out over the course of the story… with the third either being an exaggeration or a reversal from the other two, causing the reader to be caught by surprise. That third example generally illustrates some hidden truth.

Here’s an example of a Rule of Three in action. It’s from GALAXY QUEST (one of my favorite comedies of all time). Sir Alexander Dane is played by Alan Rickman as a classically trained “important” actor who got stuck playing this popular character on a cheesy sci/fi (a la Star Trek) TV show. Fred Kwan was once the “cute precocious kid” who “flew the ship” and is now grown up and Jason Nesmith is played by Tim Allen.

Sir Alexander Dane: I played Richard III.Fred Kwan: Five curtain calls…Sir Alexander Dane: There were five curtain calls. I was an actor once, damn it. Now look at me. Look at me! I won’t go out there and say that stupid line one more time.

Truth — telling the fundamental truth in the moment that most people won’t admit out loud. (An example of this is in PRETTY WOMAN, when Julia Robert’s character is at the polo match, and the two snooty women point out to her that she’s just the girlfriend du jour, that everyone’s after Richard Gere’s character for his money. She says, “Really? Well I’m just here for the sex.”)

Lies — the audience has to be in on the lie and how that lie is a twist in the moment. In MEN IN BLACK, when Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones are discussing the “flashy thing” that can erase a person’s memory, they have this exchange:

Jay: Did you ever flashy-thing me?Kay: No.Jay: I ain’t playing with you, K. Did you ever flashy-thing me?Kay: No.

Situation — physical comedy that stems directly from the situation itself, and usually illustrates a truth. Using PRETTY WOMAN again, that moment in the restaurant when Julia is trying to figure out how to eat the escargot, and she has no idea, but she doesn’t want to embarrass Richard by asking. She does her best to follow the lead of the men around her, and still, as soon as she does what they’re doing successfully, the snail shoots across the room and a waiter catches it. “Slippery little sucker,” she says, covering, and they all agree. Situational comedy can run from the slapstick (Jim Carrey in many of his movies… for example, in LIAR LIAR, when he cannot tell a lie for 24 hours due to his son’s birthday wish, one of the scenes demonstrating it is him walking out of an elevator where everyone is making a horrible face, holding their nose and when he’s out, he turns around and brags, “It was meeeeee.”) But situational comedy can run all the way to the sublime, the subtle moments. I loved the humor in the moment in SENSE AND SENSIBILITIES when Edward Ferrars (Hugh Grant) shows up in London to visit Miss Dashwood (Emma Thompson) and has already gotten all of the way into the room before he realizes that the woman to whom he is engaged (but has not seen in a very long time), is also present. It is awkward and funny and a little heart-breaking at the same time.

Reversal of Expectations — The name says it all–the character expects one thing but gets something else entirely. In LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE (a movie built on reversal of expectations), the entire family has traveled across several states in order to take the daughter to a beauty pageant that none of them really believe in, but they’re doing it to be supportive of her. They have no clue about the beauty pageant culture, and the movie is really about them coming to terms with certain truths about themselves and each other and finding a way to be a family. Once the competition has begun (and this is a SPOILER if you haven’t seen the movie), the daughter has to perform her talent for that portion of the contest. Her grandfather (who has died along the way on the trip) had been teaching her the dance, and she’s very very proud of what she’s learned. It hasn’t occurred to the mother or the dad to check to see what kind of dance the grandfather taught her…

And so, when the music starts, it’s SUPERFREAK and Olivia (who is 7) start performing an outrageous strip-tease/pole dance/slutty girl grind that is so horrifyingly cringe-worthy, and so hysterical. The other mothers are hiding their girls’ eyes and the woman in charge is very snottily trying to stop the dance and evict Olivia from the contest. But her dad runs up on stage and starts dancing and soon enough, the whole family is up there, and it’s terrible and funny at the same time. But the moment of the reversal of expectations–when that girl rips off her “tear-away” pants (I think she has gym shorts on underneath) and tosses them out to the crowd? Utterly brilliant comedy.

Okay, I’m going to stop here for this week–I have a bunch more for next week, which will be the last comedy week. I’ll have a bunch more examples of comedy mechanisms (like the above) and we’ll talk about tone (wry, black humor, ironic, dry, hyperbolic) and literary means (analogies, similes, metaphors, etc.).

For now, how about a fun game: tell me an example of humor. Any example, any movie, book or BLOG. Anywhere. And I’ll see if I can name the mechanism at work. [I’ll be checking in about lunch time.] I’ll also be really curious if anyone can name a funny moment in a darker film (any genre). And just to make this fun, all commenters are eligible for a $15 Amazon or B&N gift certificate. So getcher examples cracking!

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Bio:

Allison Brennan

Allison Brennan is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of nearly three dozen romantic thrillers and mysteries, including the Lucy Kincaid series and the Max Revere series. She lives in Northern California with her husband, five children, and assorted pets.